Of course the irony of the following article is the world vilifies Israel for the security measures she takes in protecting her borders yet it seems Israel should be taken as a positive example on her success in airport security.

'Israelification': High security, little bother

December 30, 2009

Cathal Kelly

While North America's airports groan under the weight of another sea-change in security protocols, one word keeps popping out of the mouths of experts: Israelification.

That is, how can we make our airports more like Israel's, which deal with far greater terror threat with far less inconvenience.

"It is mindboggling for us Israelis to look at what happens in North America, because we went through this 50 years ago," said Rafi Sela, the president of AR Challenges, a global transportation security consultancy. He's worked with the RCMP, the U.S. Navy Seals and airports around the world.

"Israelis, unlike Canadians and Americans, don't take s--- from anybody. When the security agency in Israel (the ISA) started to tighten security and we had to wait in line for — not for hours — but 30 or 40 minutes, all hell broke loose here. We said, 'We're not going to do this. You're going to find a way that will take care of security without touching the efficiency of the airport."

That, in a nutshell is "Israelification" - a system that protects life and limb without annoying you to death.

Despite facing dozens of potential threats each day, the security set-up at Israel's largest hub, Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport, has not been breached since 2002, when a passenger mistakenly carried a handgun onto a flight. How do they manage that?

"The first thing you do is to look at who is coming into your airport," said Sela.

The first layer of actual security that greets travellers at Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion International Airport is a roadside check. All drivers are stopped and asked two questions: How are you? Where are you coming from?

"Two benign questions. The questions aren't important. The way people act when they answer them is," Sela said.

Officers are looking for nervousness or other signs of "distress" — behavioural profiling. Sela rejects the argument that profiling is discriminatory.

"The word 'profiling' is a political invention by people who don't want to do security," he said. "To us, it doesn't matter if he's black, white, young or old. It's just his behaviour. So what kind of privacy am I really stepping on when I'm doing this?"

Once you've parked your car or gotten off your bus, you pass through the second and third security perimeters.

Armed guards outside the terminal are trained to observe passengers as they move toward the doors, again looking for odd behaviour. At Ben Gurion's half-dozen entrances, another layer of security are watching. At this point, some travellers will be randomly taken aside, and their person and their luggage run through a magnometer.

"This is to see that you don't have heavy metals on you or something that looks suspicious," said Sela.

You are now in the terminal. As you approach your airline check-in desk, a trained interviewer takes your passport and ticket. They ask a series of questions: Who packed your luggage? Has it left your side?

"The whole time, they are looking into your eyes — which is very embarrassing. But this is one of the ways they figure out if you are suspicious or not. It takes 20, 25 seconds," said Sela.

Lines are staggered. People are not allowed to bunch up into inviting targets for a bomber who has gotten this far.

At the check-in desk, your luggage is scanned immediately in a purpose-built area. Sela plays devil's advocate — what if you have escaped the attention of the first four layers of security, and now try to pass a bag with a bomb in it?

"I once put this question to Jacques Ducheneau (the former head of the Canadian Air Transport Security Authority): say there is a bag with play-doh in it and two pens stuck in the play-doh. That is 'Bombs 101' to a screener. I asked Ducheneau, 'What would you do?' And he said, 'Evacuate the terminal.' And I said, 'Oh. My. God.'

"Take Pearson. Do you know how many people are in the terminal at all times? Many thousands. Let's say I'm (doing an evacuation) without panic — which will never happen. But let's say this is the case. How long will it take? Nobody thought about it. I said, 'Two days.'"

A screener at Ben-Gurion has a pair of better options.

First, the screening area is surrounded by contoured, blast-proof glass that can contain the detonation of up to 100 kilos of plastic explosive. Only the few dozen people within the screening area need be removed, and only to a point a few metres away.

Second, all the screening areas contain 'bomb boxes'. If a screener spots a suspect bag, he/she is trained to pick it up and place it in the box, which is blast proof. A bomb squad arrives shortly and wheels the box away for further investigation.

"This is a very small simple example of how we can simply stop a problem that would cripple one of your airports," Sela said.

Five security layers down: you now finally arrive at the only one which Ben-Gurion Airport shares with Pearson — the body and hand-luggage check.

"But here it is done completely, absolutely 180 degrees differently than it is done in North America," Sela said.

"First, it's fast — there's almost no line. That's because they're not looking for liquids, they're not looking at your shoes. They're not looking for everything they look for in North America. They just look at you," said Sela. "Even today with the heightened security in North America, they will check your items to death. But they will never look at you, at how you behave. They will never look into your eyes ... and that's how you figure out the bad guys from the good guys."

That's the process — six layers, four hard, two soft. The goal at Ben-Gurion is to move fliers from the parking lot to the airport lounge in a maximum of 25 minutes.

This doesn't begin to cover the off-site security net that failed so spectacularly in targeting would-be Flight 253 bomber Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab — intelligence. In Israel, Sela said, a coordinated intelligence gathering operation produces a constantly evolving series of threat analyses and vulnerability studies.

"There is absolutely no intelligence and threat analysis done in Canada or the United States," Sela said. "Absolutely none."

But even without the intelligence, Sela maintains, Abdulmutallab would not have gotten past Ben Gurion Airport's behavioural profilers.

So. Eight years after 9/11, why are we still so reactive, so un-Israelified?

Working hard to dampen his outrage, Sela first blames our leaders, and then ourselves.

"We have a saying in Hebrew that it's much easier to look for a lost key under the light, than to look for the key where you actually lost it, because it's dark over there. That's exactly how (North American airport security officials) act," Sela said. "You can easily do what we do. You don't have to replace anything. You have to add just a little bit — technology, training. But you have to completely change the way you go about doing airport security. And that is something that the bureaucrats have a problem with. They are very well enclosed in their own concept."

And rather than fear, he suggests that outrage would be a far more powerful spur to provoking that change.

"Do you know why Israelis are so calm? We have brutal terror attacks on our civilians and still, life in Israel is pretty good. The reason is that people trust their defence forces, their police, their response teams and the security agencies. They know they're doing a good job. You can't say the same thing about Americans and Canadians. They don't trust anybody," Sela said. "But they say, 'So far, so good'. Then if something happens, all hell breaks loose and you've spent eight hours in an airport. Which is ridiculous. Not justifiable

"But, what can you do? Americans and Canadians are nice people and they will do anything because they were told to do so and because they don't know any different."

Public School

My brother Fred* and his wife Wilma* have decided to do 'the unthinkable' and send their daughter Pebbles* to public school starting next school year. They live in Silver Spring, MD and simply cannot afford Yeshiva tuition in their double income household. According to my brother, there are others in his community who are considering doing the same.

And I have to say, Kol haKavod to them for taking the responsible road. For having the courage to fly in the face of today's Orthodox convention and chose financial responsibility over 'Jewish education above all else'.

When I posted my support of their choice on my Facebook status, several people asked why they didn't make Aliyah. My own decision to make Aliyah over 12 years ago was mostly financially motivated and I'm sure I'm not alone.

The problem is Aliyah isn't for everyone. It also doesn't solve the Tuition Crisis in the United States.

In addition, what's really so terrible about getting a public education (provided the PS has a good curriculum) with supplemental religious studies?

I don't know about you, but in my family, my siblings, cousins and I are first generation 'Yeshiva goers'. My parents, aunts** and my grandparents all received a public school education with Hebrew school on the side and guess what? They all married Orthodox people and passed on a strong grounding in Orthodoxy to all their children. And all of us married grandkids married Orthodox.

Did going to Yeshiva have something to do with this? Of course. But so did the foundation we had from our publicly educated parents and grandparents.

* Not their real names. No, really!
** I think my mother's youngest sister went to Prospect Park a million years ago, either for her entire education or for some part of it.

Mentality?

What is it about Israeli 'culture' that this woman

who is obviously pregnant (she looks about 8 months pregnant) and sitting at the playground watching her 3 and 2 year old daughters, feels no shame or worry or regret about lighting up a cigarette?

Why are Israelis so far behind the times that SMOKING WILL KILL YOU? That SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU? That SMOKING CAUSES ALL SORTS OF HEALTH PROBLEMS?

Not to mention what it can do to a fetus.

I saw her light up and I had this visceral need to smack her around. Or shove the cigarette up her... nose...

My birthdays don't line up

And I have no idea why.

The Hebrew and Gregorian calendars are supposed to synch up every 19 years.

So in theory this year's birthday should have both my Hebrew and secular birthdays on the same day. Except it doesn't. It's off by a day.

If you go to kaluach.net and look at December 15th, 1971 it says it's the third light of Chanukah.

If you look at December 15th, 1990 AND 2009 however, it says it's the fourth light of Chanukah.

I know that some years the month of Cheshvan has 30 days and other years it has 29 days.

It had 30 days both in 1971 and 2009. And 29 days in 1990.

So... anyone know why my birthdays don't line up?

Standing up for my order

How many of you have done this - you go to a restaurant and order something and when the server sets the plate down in front of you in your opinion, there's something wrong with it - the dish wasn't what was advertised, it's cold when it shouldn't be, it has things in it that you requested be left out or it's over/under cooked.

And rather than 'cause a scene', you eat it. And sometimes it works out that it's better than you expected but more often than not, each bite just makes you more annoyed at yourself for NOT returning the plate and at the end of the meal the food sits in your belly like a lead weight.

I don't know about you, but I tend to be that person.

One time I was out with friends and we had gone out for my birthday. I ordered a dish and told the server to hold the pilpel which is Hebrew for peppers. My dish arrives, swimming in red peppers. When I said something to the server he said "Yes, you did ask to hold the pilpel. This is gamba".

Silly me for forgetting that the Hebrew word for sweet peppers is different from 'regular' peppers. He took it back and brought it out several minutes later... someone had simply picked out the most visible red peppers off the plate. No, I wasn't expecting different.

More recently I had a bit of a breakthrough.

Thursday many of the Anglos in Ariel had a community meeting at CafeCafe. We met to discuss any issues the new Olim (immigrants) are having and to discuss activities and such. Since it was an official meeting, the city council gave us 300NIS to spend on food. Since we were about 20 people, we were allowed 15NIS to spend. Most folks ordered hot or cold drinks but a few of us (like me) were hungry. 2 people ordered sushi. 1 person ordered a sandwich. I ordered Belgian waffles.

It took about 20 minutes for the cold and hot drinks to start showing up. 10 minutes after that the sushi and sandwich arrived. Then my husband came and he ordered sushi. 10 minutes later, my husband had his sushi.

I joked that they had to go to Belgium for the waffles. I waited 5 minutes and asked a server where my waffle was. She said it was coming. A minute later another server placed a spoon and napkin in front of me and set another 2 spoons and napkins to the side.

I don't know about any of you, but I eat my waffles with fork and knife. And I felt it was a tad presumptuous that I'd be sharing with anyone.

It's now been 50 minutes since I ordered. Everyone else has long finished their drinks and even my husband was popping the last bit of sushi into his mouth. And finally a server arrives and sets my order down in front of me.

The plate is drizzled with the bad imitation maple syrup and the even worse imitation chocolate syrup so popular in this country. In the center is a fluffy-looking, golden waffle smothered in a mountain of whipped cream. On either side of the ridge of cream are golf ball sized scoops of ice cream - one chocolate, one vanilla. There's also a small boat of fruit salad (I think it was mostly diced apples). I think they serve it so people feel better about ordering a dish that has a bazillion calories.

I cut into the waffle with my spoon and it starts to slide so with my finger I hold it in place.

The waffle is cold. And not as in 'it's smothered in whipped cream and ice cream so it's transfer' cold. But like 'what do you expect, it's been sitting on the counter for 40 minutes' cold.

I called the server over and told her I was sending it back because it was cold. She mumbled an apology, took it away and came back a few minutes later to tell me they were going to make me another plate. I told her to forget about it because the meeting was over and everyone was finished eating.

Before going home, Zach and I went for pizza.

Blogger's Evening

Life kind of hit me upside the head this past week and I just haven't felt much like blogging anything. The baby will most likely be cutting his first teeth in a few days and anyone who has gone through this with a baby knows it means an interesting set of Seven Dwarves move in. In addition to Grumpy (of which we see A LOT), there's Kvetchy, Clingy, Snotty, Hungry, Pukey and Poopy.

I did finally get started on redoing my blog's banner. It's a bit of a work in progress but it's nicer than what I had before.

I also will most likely be hosting my first 'carnival', I'll be playing hostess for the November KCC.

The blogger evening was very nice, my first opportunity to get away for a significant length of time from the baby. If AMiI will forgive me, I'm just going to post a link of her own review of the evening here complete with links to all the blogs of those who participated.

Simchat Torah, 2 years ago...

I wrote this two years ago. I'll have a new post about this year's Simchat Torah in a few days, bli neder.

I found out that I had PCOS about 2 months into my marriage with Zach. I was told it would mean fertility treatments if/when we wanted to have a baby. And treatments would only be possible if I got the green light from my GI because of the liver tumors.

Of course at the time, we didn't know they were tumors. That took almost a year to diagnose.

That Simchat Torah I stood in the women's section watching over the mechitzah as the men danced. I watched Zach dancing around the Bimah holding a Sefer Torah. I watched other men dancing around the Bimah holding their children and I prayed that by next year, despite what the doctors were saying, that Zach would be dancing around the Bimah with his child.

The year passed with more doctors' visits than I care to remember. The long process of being diagnosed with the liver tumors (made longer by health insurance bureaucracy) and then finally the green light to start treatments and the naivete that once I started treatments I'd get pregnant right away.

That Simchat Torah I stood in the women's section watching over the mechitzah as the men danced. I watched Zach dancing around the Bimah, once again holding a Sefer Torah. Now while there's nothing wrong with that, it's rather an honor, I watched and cried and felt guilty. That it was my fault Zach wasn't dancing with his child. That I had wasted so many years with an undiagnosed liver tumor and undiagnosed fertility problems and only when I was married was I finally doing something about it. That my husband was saddled with a problem.

I couldn't bear to go to services the next day.

And another year passed. With even more visits to the clinic as fertility treatments started in earnest. The long process of trying to get pregnant - from injecting myself black and blue to having scheduled sex. Having to talk to a Rabbi knowledgeable in how one goes about collecting a sperm sample to use for IUI when masturbation is forbidden and so is sex with a condom. And month after month of negative pregnancy tests.

Until finally.

That Simchat Torah I made the effort to go and watch the men dancing. I had spent Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur on bedrest and most of Sukkot. But I wanted to watch the dancing for an hour at least and as I watched Zach dancing around the Bimah yet again, I prayed and cried to God to keep safe the tiny life that had started growing within me.

And another year passed. And God did indeed keep safe the life growing within me and in May we welcomed our son into the world.

And this Simchat Torah I stood in the women's section watching over the mechitzah as the men danced. I watched Zach dancing around the Bimah with a smile I thought would split his face as he held his son. I watched and cried in happiness and thanks and said a heartfelt prayer to God, thanking Him for giving us this opportunity and that we be continue to be blessed by our son. Zach carried NS around for most of the night and as we walked home after, he commented that he didn't have a chance to hold a Sefer Torah this time.

As holy as the Sefer Torah is, I felt it was a good trade-off.

Things to do

For the second November in a row, my father in law will be visiting us.

Unlike last year, our toddler's comprehension about The World Around Him is much better and it justifies spending some money on seeing and going and doing. (He'll be 2 1/2 come November).

The zoo... which is better? The Safari Park/Zoological Center in Ramat Gan or the Biblical Zoo in Jerusalem? (And yes, we'll have a car).

The aquarium... is there even another aquarium in Israel other than the one in Eilat?

What other suggestions do folks have? Needs to be suitable for a 2 1/2 year old and I prefer hands-on type stuff...

The concept of 'generic brands'

In recent months our local supermarket has had an influx of their generic brand stocking the shelves.

Except not one item is actually priced less than the brand name and in some cases it's actually MORE expensive.

I imagine the real 'savings' is if you have their credit card, but that costs 140NIS/month. Doesn't seem like much of a savings to me.

I think the corporate board needs a lesson in the mechanics of 'generic brand'. I need a reason to buy your brand as opposed to the just as- or slightly more expensive name brand and in today's penny-pinching world, price is a big motivator to get me to drop your brand into my cart over the other guy's.

Mega has their own canned tuna in both water and oil. I bought a can to taste test and it's actually really good. Up there with the available Starkist. Starkist is priced... either 5.19 or 5.29... or maybe even 5.39. Mega brand is labeled 4.93. After deciding that we like it, I've started buying it.

Last week I noticed that it rang up at 5.29/can. It was labeled 4.93. Unfortunately I didn't notice this until I was already home and no, I never got around to taking the receipt back to complain.

However when I bought the Mega tuna again today, still labeled at 4.93/can and it rang up at 5.29, I DID say something. The cashier called over the manager and the manager had the nerve to say 'why is she complaining about 40 agurot?'.

I couldn't help myself. I told her that it wasn't an issue of 40 agurot. But 40 agurot times the 5 cans I'm buying now, and the 4 cans I bought last week.

They corrected the bill and I got the tuna for 4.93/can.

I wonder if I go back tomorrow if the cans will be labeled 5.29. If they are, I'll probably go back to buying Starkist.

Way to be supportive, Mom

Is there a rolling eyes emoticon I can use here?

I'm a non-believing Jew but my son wants a barmitzvah

Annabel Wright and her husband are atheists. The idea of raising their children within her lapsed Jewish faith had never occurred to them. So what to do when their 12-year-old son searched his soul and suddenly got religion?

When my son Marcus was born, the last thing on my mind as a Jewish mother was circumcision. I am a non-practising Jew and my husband, Jonathan, is lapsed Church of England, and we both felt that, as our son grew up, he would want to "match" his daddy. Indeed, my husband and I are confirmed atheists, and although I have been known to make a deal with God on turbulent flights, my promise is invariably broken after touchdown.

The Torah, the sacred book of Jewish laws, states resolutely that God commands all Jewish males to be circumcised. Without this procedure a boy is not considered a Jew and will be shunned. But I am firmly against the idea, viewing it as a form of genital mutilation. How could I have known that this would present a potential problem some years later …

There we were, 12 years down the road, mooching around a north London synagogue. It was only the second time my son had set foot in one – friends had invited us to the annual Hanukah (Festival of Lights) bazaar. Although I didn't feel quite like a gefilte fish out of water, I didn't feel especially at home either. I sensed a lack of belonging to a tight-knit group.

I left Marcus to his own devices and went to find his two younger sisters. When I next saw him he was fingering a variety of kippas (Jewish skull caps) with rather more interest than I'd have liked. As he balanced one on the back of his head I stifled a laugh and playfully remarked, "Suits you."

"Don't laugh," he replied, a grave expression clouding his face. "I'm not trying these on for a joke. I want to buy one. In fact, I've been thinking lately and I want to be, well, more Jewish."

"You are Jewish, because I am," I reminded him, hoping that would be the end of it but instinctively knowing that it wouldn't. In the Jewish faith, children take their racial and religious identity from the mother, a fact over which my husband and I have had the odd tussle.

"I know that I'm Jewish because of you," replied Marcus, "but I'd like to do it properly – you know, the festivals, the food, maybe even a barmitzvah …"

I almost choked on my salmon bagel. A barmitzvah! Did he have any idea how many years ahead you had to book the Crystal Suite at the Dorchester? Where had this sudden interest in Judaism come from? Not from me, and certainly not from his dad.

I had "married out" and hadn't given the whole Jewish thing much thought thereafter. I never imagined I would have a fair-haired, blue-eyed son wanting to embrace Judaism – or any religion for that matter. How naive of me to assume my children would unquestioningly follow my atheist lead.

But I respect my son's integrity; he has an emotional intelligence beyond his years. His announcement demanded further exploration. My husband and I would have to take him seriously.

As the daughter of German Jewish refugees, I have spent a lifetime pulling away from my roots. The message I absorbed from my parents was that being Jewish was dangerous, even life-threatening. When I started secondary school, about the same age that my mother was when she found herself the victim of antisemitism, she warned me to assimilate and to avoid getting into a "ghetto" with the Jewish girls. I was further perplexed by my mother's ambivalent relationship with Judaism. She insisted on attending synagogue on holidays, but for the rest of the year we played at being as British and non-Jewish as could be.

My father wanted nothing to do with the religion. I was always embarrassed at relatives' weddings when he had to wear a disposable paper kippa, customarily on offer to the non-Jews. He didn't deny his roots (he was barmitzvahed as a boy), but he didn't go out of his way to advertise his racial heritage either. When I finally married, at the geriatric age of 32 (in Jewish spinster years that's about 55), my parents were delighted at my choice of partner: a non-Jewish lawyer. Operation Assimilation complete. Here was a man who could hide me under the floorboards should the Nazis return.

And luckily, here was a man who, despite his antipathy towards organised religion, was happy to let Marcus satisfy his curiosity about his mother's heritage – though he made it clear he wouldn't be coming along for the ride.

In the weeks that followed, Marcus asked if I could find a synagogue that might consider taking him on with a view to studying for his barmitzvah. I knew this would be a tall order. There was no way he could cram the necessary knowledge in one year. And would a synagogue take him at all? A friend had warned me that hers probably wouldn't, given Marcus's uncircumcised status. I was incensed that what was in his pants was more important than what was in his heart. But I also felt that it would be wrong to deny my son the chance to explore his roots.

We sat Marcus down for some soul-searching. "I like the idea of belonging to something special," he told us. "I feel proud to be Jewish. It feels unique. And there are so few of us left it seems a shame not to do something about it. I want to do this because it's about the religion and believing in God."

And so began my quest to find a synagogue liberal enough to take us on. An easier proposition than I'd feared – we live in north London, after all – and I found one in Golders Green. Progressive, liberal and welcoming to mixed-faith couples, although my husband was taken aback by the £750 annual fee. "That's more than a year's subscription to Sky Sports," he half-joked, threatening to offer Marcus an ultimatum: Sky or synagogue?

Marcus and I met the rabbi, and I delicately raised the issue of his physical predicament. I was relieved by the response. "It's true that some synagogues, particularly the more orthodox, would see this as a bar to entry, but not us. You're Jewish, so your son is Jewish," he said.

His advice was that Marcus and I join their family classes to give both of us an idea of what would be ahead. We all agreed that it was too ambitious to aim for a ceremony at 13. "It's a misconception that you have to have one then," explained the rabbi. "Although 13 is usual, you can study for it at any age. Men who were boys in the war and missed out have been known to have barmitzvahs in their 70s."

In the early weeks, I managed to affect a spray-on enthusiasm. But as time wore on, I realised that if Marcus was to follow the faith, I just couldn't do it with him. The subject matter (dissecting parts of the Old Testament, examining the meaning of Jewish festivals) was just too dry, too archaic, despite the rabbi's valiant attempts to make it relevant to life today.

At the end of the first term, I told Marcus that he would have to go it alone. He could join the Sunday classes, where no parental input is required. He was upset by this but realised that he couldn't expect me to embrace a religion that held no appeal. We hugged each other and cried.

But some weeks later, Marcus said that he just couldn't do it on his own. "It's just too unrealistic, Mum. How can I celebrate the festivals and follow all the other stuff without you and Dad and the girls? I guess it's time to quit."

That was 18 months ago and Marcus is now 13, the traditional age for barmitzvah. We are watching some of his friends go through the process and my husband and I have a lingering feeling that we may have denied him something important. A sense of belonging and a supportive community to fall back on, beyond home and school, are no bad things in the world we live in. But what are we saying? Organised religion is a club that we simply don't want to join.

Yet I am a Jew, and fiercely protective of my race. My grandparents survived the Nazi concentration camps and my parents avoided a similar fate by a whisker. Just don't ask me to get involved in the religious shenanigans. My husband, meanwhile, is relieved that Marcus has moved away from the religion. Would Christianity have been more acceptable I asked him. "At least the services are in English and the music is great. But ultimately no, because I don't believe in any of it."

Marcus himself is sanguine about the experience. "Now that some of my mates are going through barmitzvah I can see what's involved and I don't think it would have been right for me. Anyway, I can always go back to it when I'm older," he says. And he can. The velvet kippa is in the top drawer of his bedside table, awaiting the day.

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